i am too weak to be your cure

by Morghen

"You believe that preventing someone from becoming a monster, from becoming a Death Eater in the first place is more helpful than having to destroy one later." Fifty drabbles based on Regulus/Gideon, from Gideon's pov. For the OTP Boot Camp Challenge on HPFC. M&MWP. Directly related to my other fic "we will be the last ones standing." Rated T just in case. Nonlinear timeline.

20. killing

xx. killing

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You lie close, limbs tangled with one another, the smell of smooth vodka still fresh on your lips while the heat of summer tortures your skin. You push a scrap of parchment into his hand to read when he wakes and he closes his fingers tightly around it before kissing you, toothier than usual, but the buzz is to blame.

You smile, and the fingers of his free hand tug at your red locks. "What?" he asks, looking worried and he's always a little bit paranoid and a little bit sentimental when he drinks, which is better than how his father is, as he once told you.

You push the wavy locks from his forehead that were stuck there by a light sheen of sweat and you kiss his nose. "Have I ever told you I love you?"

The words wash the worry from his visage and he smiles a smile which reaches his clouded grey eyes. He pulls you closer, if that's even possible, and your skin sticks to his and his to yours. "Once or twice," he answers, his words slurring in a way you think is beautiful and you wonder if you could capture his voice in your camera and keep those words forever.

He takes the piece of torn parchment from his hand and studies the scrawled message you wrote down. It takes him a while to read it and the whole time the voice in your head is nagging you to take it away because it's for tomorrow, but you don't. When he's finally deciphered it, his smile looks sad and you feel as though that sadness is killing you slowly, stealing all your air away and compressing your chest. "What do you mean?" he asks as he pushes the note back towards you.

And suddenly you don't know what you mean or what you meant when you wrote that down for him to read. Your mind is hazy and you wish you hadn't drunk anything because you can't think, you just can't think and you feel helpless. You take the parchment in your hand and look at it, a single word messily scratched with a heavy hand into it, the edges stained with ink. "Forever?" it asks, and you smile sadly as well when you read it. The message seemed meaningful when you wrote it, but now...well, now you aren't sure what you were asking or why.

"I'll love you forever," he says quietly, and his smile no longer makes him seem upset. "I will."

You crumple the paper between your fingers and you kiss him once more and you wonder if that's what you had meant because his answer seems to feel right in your mind.